


He Meant To Kill Her

by Slave2Writing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:39:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1926924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slave2Writing/pseuds/Slave2Writing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sirius' death, Harry plans to take vengeance on his murderer, but his hatred for Bellatrix takes an unexpected twist, and the Dark Lord's most faithful servant shows him a new way to grieve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Meant To Kill Her

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted this on Fanfiction.net in 2009.

He didn't know why he kissed her. He meant to kill her, strike her down. But she kept on laughing at him and it was Sirius' laugh, Sirius' mouth and with a pang he realized how alike they were.

He kissed her.

For a second she stilled and he wondered if that was a danger sign and should he stop and should he let go but no because now she was kissing him back.

He grasped on to everything he could of her and dimly wondered when he'd let go, when he'd go too far but not now, not yet because she was grabbing him too.

He remembered Sirius' laugh. Exhilarated. Cocky. He died that way and Harry was grateful because he died the way he lived and would she die that way too, he wondered. Would she die right now? She felt eternal.

She felt hot too, and tight. And clammy, or was that him, yes it was him and he was nervous and scared and growing and it was because of her, this witch, this devil.

He couldn't tell where he began or where he ended. They were together, mangled, and he hated himself and hated her more and loved touching her and tasting her but she needed to shut up now, and stop laughing, laughing, LAUGHING!

She grew quiet after his outburst and looked at him strangely and he had his wand out but there was no fear in her eyes, no fear, no fear, but he wanted her to have some but she wouldn't and neither did Sirius when he was about to die.

Would he kill her? She felt eternal, as Sirius should have been. Sirius should have stayed. Have come back. All he had was her and he hated her and he drew his wand slowly across her neck and she let him and he thought it was wrong and he wanted to kill her, to strike her down, but he kissed her instead.

She kissed back.

He needed her. He knew he needed her. He wondered what drew her to him. But did it matter? It did, but not now, not at this moment. Now he felt her legs around him, her hands gripping his hair  _hard_ , and her laugh echoing in his ear, himself  _inside_  her.

Time stood still and grew tighter around them. Pressing themselves together and suffocating them.

He was still inside her, she grew tighter and tighter and tighter, his breathing was labored and her laugh came in pants, his scar burned and she screamed as he came.

His scar burned and he cried in a chorus of agony as she lay beside him, her left arm stinging. She rejoiced in the pain and he saw she was mad. Quite mad. He lifted his wand to kill her. Right in this moment. Right now. His wand twitched with longing. She locked her gaze on him. Sirius' gaze.

He meant to kill her. He kissed her instead.


	2. More Than Pain

For once she wasn't interested by the pain. Usually she loved it, craved it, sought it out in any form it might happen by. It came with death, and broken hearts, and first times. In pleads for mercy, shouts for mercy, sobs for mercy. It came with the hard edge of a blade pressed against the mudblood's neck, veins pulsing and hearts pumping. It came with a purposeful swipe of her master's wand, rendering her incapable of any thoughts. Only feelings and quick breathes.

Usually she sought pain.

But for once something new distracted her from her goal. It was in his eyes. There was pain there too, but something more. It was in every stiffening of his strong jaw, every involuntary clench on his wand. In his ceaseless poundings into her; her legs wrapped against his waist, arms clutching his shoulders, back pressed hard against the wall. Allowing him to fill her up, to tighten around him. Hot and sticky and wrong. Biting each other, cursing each other, both scar and mark alight.

But she wasn't just in it for the pain.

She was there for his sneers, his fists slamming into mirrors and playing with the shards. His secrets, lies he told his friends. Secrets he spilled in between the hours of hating her and loving her. Cursing her and praising God for her. Demanding Sirius back and bawling that he'd gone. She listened to him enraptured. There was something more than just pain in his voice. More than just trembles of fear and lumps of sadness. Something more. Something the Death Eaters were too cold to share, and the Order to proud to admit.

Harry shared.

He pushes her against the bedpost and viciously strips her before pushing her down on her knees. Eagerly she takes him as he runs his fingers through her hair. Gripping it hard he slams in and out of her mouth, trying to choke her. He feels the vibrations of her cackle on him.

He knows she knows this is more than just about the pain.


	3. Defined in Sand

He remembers the Dursleys taking him to the beach only once. He's six years old and thinks he's covered in mud but it's only wet sand. A little further off Dudley flounders in the ocean, while Harry piles the lumps of sand on his skinny knees, lies down and piles some more on his chest. He wriggles a little and smiles at the feeling of the grains trickling inside his belly button. Time passes in a haze while the clouds rush past and he's so cold and wet and happy; the palest thing under the sun. Someone shouts, "Filthy!" And it's Vernon who's hauling him up.

Later, Petunia rubs him furiously with the towel, so hard that he thinks the skin might come off and it's almost like having a fussy mother. Nice, Harry thinks, because the attention's on him right now and only him. He spreads his legs a little wider and spreads his arms for a balanced stance while Petunia mutters under her breath and calls him "filthy." He so badly wants to say, "I know, Mom."

They only took him to the beach once.

Somehow though, as Harry lies there on the bed, chest heaving but settling down, strands of her dark curls wrapped around him, and sweat slipping between them, he feels like he's back in that wet sand. Everything is dark, everything is dirty, everything is wet. When he moves inside her again so hard, and she whispers, "So soon?" He can see those clouds again, and Petunia hissing in his ear, "Filthy!"

He only ever called her 'mother' once.

Bellatrix groans underneath him, her nails sinking into his flesh, and pulls herself up just a little to push up against his chest. He sinks deeper – quicksand – and there's no way to climb out. The hole he's dug for himself begins to crumble on all sides and all he can do is dig some more. Things get darker, and there's so much sand sticking to him.

Bellatrix rubs furiously against him. He collapses just to stop her moving, he needs to stay dirty a little longer. He keeps the rhythm, and then goes faster. She cries out, pained, but catches up. He moves so fast he's trying to leave her behind. She begins to laugh, but he presses his mouth on hers and now that's moving furiously as well. She kisses back and there's a hum in the air but the air soon leaves and she begins to panic.

He can't see anything. It's more than just his knees that are covered, or his chest. Dudley giggles in that six year-old way while he presses his palm against Harry's forehead, forcing it down. Harry watches the clouds, not bothered by the sand on his throat, trickling into his eyes. His vision disappears and there's no more sky.

He only ever went to the beach once.

She grows still and he releases her from his mouth. Gazes at her, then slips out. There's a tight pull but then he's free. He gets to his feet. Starts pulling on his shirt, pants, tie –

BASTARD!

She's on him, clawing at his eyes, screaming and shouting curses and he feels the sting though her wand is on the other side of the room. Her hands pull hard at the tie around his neck. He chokes, falls to the floor, and grows hot.

He can see the sun, he see the clouds, he can see the ocean he's never touched, and the sand he felt so intimately. He leans against her bare knee, rubbing his head a little between her thighs while she pulls tighter and tighter and tighter…

**One hour later…**

"This is definitely not the most conventional relationship I've been in." Bellatrix looked around the room, idly taking note of all the creative tools they'd used to try to kill each other with.

Harry shifted a bit to look up at her, his chin nestled comfortably on her stomach. Around his neck the tie hung limply. "I didn't know we were calling it a relationship."

"Is there a better word you'd like to use?"

"I don't think what we have is something that can be summed up in just one word."

Bellatrix nodded thoughtfully. "How about… Hellatrix?"

* * *

His feet sink. The grains tickle the soles of his feet as they're swept back into the tide. Bellatrix hovers over his shoulder, breathing down his neck, always taller than him. If he never looks at her, he can imagine Sirius beside him. And it's almost his voice that talks to him.

"Why here?"

"Because." If he squints hard he can see Dudley floundering in the ocean, and Petunia's voice caught in the wind, and feel Vernon's rough beefy hand clenched tight on his arm. "This is where I am." Stuck. Sinking. No more than wet grains of filthy sand.


	4. Into The Night

_Like a gift from the heavens, it was easy to tell_  
It was love from above that could save me from hell  
She had fire in her soul it was easy to see  
How the devil himself could be pulled out of me

~ Ultimate Santana, "Into The Night"

* * *

He breathes softly against the little hairs on the nape of her neck. She stares straight at the wall, taking the time to count the many long cracks running through the faded wallpaper. Harry's arms are slung across her waist, his cheek on her shoulder, and she tries not to think about how surprised she always is that he's still so soft.  _Just a baby._

So many early mornings like this one. Waking up in a strange room in a strange part of town, except this one actually has a window, and Bellatrix can play with the specks of fluff only visible in the shards of pale light. Her hand reaches up to grab; darting and flexing and inevitably unsuccessful. She could reach for her wand, buried in her clothes over the side of the bed, prop herself up, turn around and kill Harry.  _He's the dark lord's._

Harry's breath is warm. Bellatrix thinks about Narcissa suddenly. Holding up her baby and cooing,  _Bella, Bella, hold him. Oh, come on, you have to, isn't he just adorable? Isn't he the cutest? Isn't he…_  A second of Draco staring unblinkingly into her eyes, breathing shallowly in the excitement of meeting someone new. Warm shallow breaths... and then he throws up. But she had had years of Azkaban to forgive him. Seventeen years ago, and it could have been Harry she was holding.

Harry mutters in his dream, begins to stir, his body turning away from hers. She stares at the light, waiting until she knows he will wake; always seemingly before her. There's a jerking motion beside her, and she closes her eyes and relaxes the lids.  _I'm asleep. I'm asleep. I'm asleep._

* * *

 

He dreamt about Sirius again. A memory. Straddling his godfather's waist, looking down into cold dark eyes on the verge of pleading, his wand pressed hard against Sirius' chest. He had wanted to kill him. Thirteen years of frustration and loss and for seconds he had found a face to blame it all on. He couldn't kill him.

Now Sirius was gone, and his murderer laid beside his godson. Beautiful like Sirius was, but broken too. Like something was broken in Harry. He kept his breathing even while she played with the light.  _I could do it now. I could kill you right now._

* * *

They get up, they stretch, they dress, they leave. Harry ducks his head and leaves two galleons at the front desk. Bellatrix is already out the door. He hurries and catches her in mid-spin, presses his lips hungrily against hers. She tastes like death and when he pulls away life is all the more sweeter. She stares like she knows and backs away, continuing the apparation. Harry blinks and she's gone.

* * *

Diagon Alley is soft in the darkness. He walks block after block after block. The shops are silent, and he sees his picture on the posters.  _Undesirable. Undesirable._  He smirks a little and peels one off a window.  _Well hey,_  he thinks.  _At least I'm number one._


	5. Lingering Lights

_Mmm, I want to linger_

_Mmm, a little longer_

_Mmm, a little longer here with you_

_Mmm, it's such a perfect night_

_Mmm, it doesn't seem quite right_

_Mmm, that this should be my last with you_

_Mmm, and as the years go by_

_Mmm, I'll think of you and sigh_

_Mmm, This is good night and not good-bye_

~ Linger

She had this way of biting her tongue when she laughed. A slow smile spreading across her face, and then her tongue would stick out, her teeth clamping down upon it as her shoulders began to shake. A build up to something greater and uncontrollable. Harry leaned in, avoiding her lips, his own placing butterfly kisses on her cheeks, her chin, down to her neck, and then back up to her temple, breathing in the fragrance of her hair.

They always came together at night, but it was the mornings he was impatient for. Lying next to, entwined with, something so rotted through, something that had once been, or could have been so beautiful, something dangerous, toxic, and something he could infinitely trust. The thrusting, the groans struggling through particles of air, flesh upon flesh upon flesh, her eyes widening as he entered, emerald spearing black until a white light hit them both, waves upon waves upon waves… none of that mattered as much as the mornings. The mornings of lying next to each other, entwined with each other – that was the betrayal. And he was impatient for it.

His hand gripped her naked shoulder, urging her to face him. He was done pretending.

"What about your little girlfriend?" The taunt was half-hearted.

"What about your master?" The question was real.

"This is separate from him. You know that in battle, I will kill you."

"You can't do that."

"Do what?"

"The war doesn't stay outside that door." He opened his mouth to say more, but she had lifted herself up, a light, begging kiss against his mouth. Her body welcomed more of his arms. Wrapped around each other, his mouth burrowed into her neck, trailing down to her breasts, burning her chest, and her heart hammered.

* * *

Another morning, and she slips out of the bed, hurriedly dressing, startled at a hand grabbing her arm, pulling her back to the bed, and she falls into his lap. "I have to go."

"Kiss good-bye."

"No."

He sticks out his lower lip, bright green eyes widening, and she laughs at the ridiculous pout. He enjoys the sound, but it's not the exact laugh that he loves so much. Her tongue is safely tucked in. "Kiss good-bye." He demands again.

"No." Her fingers reach up to brush away a stray hair, tracing his forehead, dancing around the scar. "Does it hurt?"

"I kiss and tell."

Her tongue sticks out, and she bites it. Giggling, she leans in. His eyes close, head tilting, and her lips press against the scar, trailing down the sides of his face until they reach the corner of his lips. "Do tell."

"Every day now."

* * *

"Did you know he would die?"

"I didn't think Snape was on our side."

"But you knew tonight was the night. You knew tonight he'd die."

"I didn't Snape would dare try and kill - "

"You  _knew_  he was going to die tonight."

"Eventually we all die."

"Even Voldemort?" He taunted.

She stayed quiet. Eventually his head fell onto her lap, and her fingers stroked his hair, massaged his temple. Droplets of salt and sadness (frustration, anger) trickling onto her legs until she was swimming. "Harry." He didn't answer. "Get up." She pushed him off, grabbing his hand and leading him through the door. The air was cold, and they stood outside of the inn, a few miles from London's unnatural obstruction of the night.

"Look." He followed her gaze, pressed against her taller form. Nothing but stars blinking between clouds, shadows of the Dark Mark. "They're all dead. Farther away than what you can see. Just the lingering remnants of what once was… but it's enough." His fingers clenched her arm. "It's what I'll be. And you. The Dark Lord." She paused. "Dumbledore." Harry closed his eyes. "Your parents. My parents."

"Sirius." His eyes opened, shining through the darkness.

"Yes. Him too."

They sunk into the grass. Long after they had finished, morning passing over their entwined forms, moans of pleasure and sadness lingered in the air.

* * *

"Oh…"

She laughs uncontrollably, biting his tongue as it slips past her lips, and he groans, the vibrations rumbling down through her throat, thin strands tickling her insides.

Tipping over, he balances himself with her thighs, gripping the soft flesh. There's so much softness about her.

"Oh…"

The door opens behind them, but they're laughing too loudly to listen for the creak; the soft steps into the room. Bellatrix enjoys the softness beneath her, staring into emerald eyes. Bright, and growing brighter. Harry watches her shoulders shake, the teeth holding down the tongue.

A wand is pointed at them, they continue to laugh. Thrusts, laughter, moans, waves upon waves upon waves. Bellatrix stares up into emerald. Bright… bright… brighter… they grow still, cold, sinking into the white sheets.

A wand lowers, a door creaks. Remnants of a light lingers on, highlighting the still forms on a bed, entwined together.

 _When I turn my feelings on_  
I turn my feelings on inside  
Feel like I'm gonna ignite  
I saw them stars go off  
I saw them stars go off at night  
And they're looking alright

~ I Turn My Camera On

by Spoon


End file.
